


The Scent of Home

by cleo4u2, xantissa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ABO dynamics, Alpha!Bucky, Captain America: Winter Soldier au, Cuddling, Fix It Fic, Fluff, Identity Porn, Kid Fic, M/M, Mentions of past mpreg, Omega!Steve, mentions of clintasha - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: The Soldier tracked his Target, Nicholas J. Fury, to the apartment complex. He had seized control of the security systems. It would be an easy kill.It should have been an easy mission. If only there wasn't that hauntingly familiar scent...





	The Scent of Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/gifts).



> Secret Santa gift for the one and only Glow Cloud! We love you :)

“...and they lived happily ever after.”

Closing the book, Steve set it aside and looked down at his daughter. Her golden hair lay in a halo on the pillow, eyes closed, the picture of an angel. Steve wasn’t fooled. Sleep was the only time his little hellion gave him peace. Not that he minded, not really. Jamie was his heart and soul; he loved her fiercely, and not just because she was all he had left of her father. 

Gently carding his fingers through her hair, Steve smiled to himself as he remembered the moment he realized he was pregnant, two weeks after the Battle of New York, when he’d finally had a moment to calm down and breathe in a way he hadn’t in years. They’d thought the super soldier serum was failing when he’d gotten sick every morning. That, plus the exhaustion, it made sense. Tony had been the one to realize the truth: Steve was pregnant.

Oh, Steve hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. Diapause, when the Omega’s body halted a pregnancy in times of stress, was so rare he’d waved it away. Truthfully, he hadn’t wanted to be pregnant, hadn’t wanted a reminder of how dead and gone Bucky was staring back at him all the time. God, had he been wrong and he thanked his lucky stars for her every day. Jamie had been a surprise, but the best thing that had happened to him since waking up in the ice. Hell, she was the best thing that had happened to him since he had met Bucky.

It wasn’t until he was showing that he believed it and then… Well, Steve hadn’t handled it well. Without an Alpha, and with his job, he was sure he couldn’t take care of a child. It was all thanks to Clint, Jamie’s godfather, that he hadn’t given her up. He’d taken Steve out to the middle of nowhere, to a farm, with a gorgeous home, a nanny, and three beautiful children. Kept hidden, and kept safe, thanks to Fury. 

Steve still couldn’t believe Natasha had children most days, but then he’d look at Clint’s face with his little ones and it all made sense. No Alpha could deny their mate so much happiness. 

After three days there, with his own bundle of joy kicking at his ribs, Steve didn’t think he could deny himself either. Not even after she’d broken a few of those ribs and they’d realized she was enhanced, like Steve, and he had been pregnant throughout the entire war. Bucky would have killed him if he’d known. 

Setting the book aside, Steve tucked the covers around his daughter and kissed her on her forehead. She turned to her side, holding tighter to her Bucky Bear that she slept with every night, courtesy of Tony (who was a huge softy and hated that Steve knew it). Clicking on her nightlight, he flipped the room switch and headed for his own, empty bed.

Bucky didn’t know about Jamie, or how Steve had put her in danger. Bucky had died, lost to Steve except when Jamie opened her eyes. The Avengers all thought her eyes were the same color as Steve’s, but he knew better. She had his nose, his hair, his unfortunate chin, but her eyes? They were all Bucky.

\----

The hunt was not as difficult as he expected. A level ten target meant high danger; potential for bodily damage. There weren’t many targets at level ten that had left him fully functional afterward. To compensate, his target had been difficult to pin down. Between superior equipment and fast reaction times, he had been unable to kill him, though he managed to stay on his target’s trail, tracking him through the sewers and into a residential area. 

Nothing mattered but the goal, finding the source of that scent - gunpowder and blood - that he stalked. It didn't matter how far or how fast his target ran, he would find them. He would kill them. That was the mission.

The target’s scent was as familiar to him as his own, and it lingered thick in the hallway. Tiny, obvious traces took him down in the corridor. A drop of dark blood near the wall. A smeared handprint, shoulder height. 

His target was close.

Rolling his shoulders, he resettled his shoulder holster and pressed closer to the wall. A frontal entry would not be a good choice; his target too dangerous, the risk of complication too high. He wanted to know his target’s position and couldn't plan his next move without it. To get it he needed a plan, a good one…

A scent stopped his calculating mind as if he had just walked into a wall.

It was nothing dangerous. It was not an explosive or accelerant. It was a human smell. A child’s smell. 

Something strange and forgotten inside him twisted and turned, like a great beast with fitful sleep. He stood in the dark corridor, rifle pressed tightly to his shoulder, his finger on the trigger guard and… breathed. The child was young; very young. 

There was a special quality to prepubescent children. There was potential in it, unmistakable as anything else. Sweet and young, it was both painfully familiar and completely alien. He filled his lungs in an attempt to understand what it was in this scent that had caught his attention. There was no blood in it, no danger, yet he stood there, frozen, inhaling deeply, exhaling so fast, he was on the verge of hyperventilating. 

Regulating his breathing forcefully, he looked down at his hands holding the rifle and found they were shaking. He lowered them, the gun more a liability now that he couldn’t control his own body. Even that didn't matter much, though. The _scent_ mattered. 

Opening his mouth, he could taste the scent on the roof of his mouth and in the back of his throat. It was a physical thing; a liquid presence that slid over his tongue and into him. It spread in his chest, throughout his body, chasing the cold away and almost bringing memories. It was slippery though, an amorphous, unclear thing. Like an image that he saw from the corner of his eye. Some deep, forgotten part of him yearned for that warmth, screamed at him that he should catch that scent, find the source of it no matter what. That scent was the most important thing right now. Not his mission, not his target, not even Hydra. 

He licked his lips under his mask, turning to lift his nose higher in the air and begin moving through the corridor, from one wall to the other, desperately tried to triangulate the source. Following it was as easy as if he was attatched by a string, a dog on a leash. He turned from the corner leading the opposite way of his target scent and went down the stairs to the level below. At the end, at an apartment door on the ground level, he found it. 

With his hand on the door, some of his senses returned. This was enemy territory. He had no knowledge of the layout of the apartment inside, or how many hostiles were inside. Though he had to find whatever caused this scent, he had to do so intelligently. The apartments all had large, open windows. He could use that to his advantage, climb up, get a good view inside. Perhaps spot the source, but at the least learn the layout and how many other people were around.

Slinging his rifle over his back, he headed for the stairs. It took him a few minutes to cross the street unseen, find a way to the roof, and a place no one would see if they looked. Laying out his rifle, he aimed the scope at the ground floor apartment, through the windows. The curtains were pulled back, showing a kitchen table, a woman sitting reading a book, a child coloring…

Both looked up at once, startling him in a way he hadn’t felt in… ever. His heart beat double time, high in his throat and his lips were dry. It almost felt like terror, but it wasn't. It was… he had no idea what it was. 

The girl was up first, running out of his sight. She returned hoisted in the arms of a tall man. He was blond, the color of sun and not dyed. His skin matched the bright coloring and his frame was big, tighter than men that tall usually were. The curve of his wide shoulders indicated more than casual weight lifting, but the long, surprisingly thin, waist made his heart skip a beat. An image, a fantasy maybe, of hands on those hips, touching pale skin... then it was gone. The man was handsome, but it was the smile on his face that transformed him into true beauty. His eyes were focused on the child he was tossing into the air, big hands catching the tiny body with assurance that spoke of experience and familiarity.

He watched the pale, delicate lines of the child's face, tracing the line of her jaw and the bone structure under her messy hair. Then he watched the sharp line of the man’s jaw, the set of his eyes, his nose.

Father and daughter.

It should have been an ordinary sight, one he had seen a million times, but he couldn’t look away. Instead of getting over it and going to finish his mission, he stayed there, his scope following the tall blond as he settled the child on the floor and turned to talk to the middle aged woman that had been caring for the little girl. 

It was ordinary.

There was nothing special.

He had a _mission_.

He _knew him_.

Not even the threat of reconditioning could make him put his scope away now.

\----

With Jamie in his arms, Steve climbed up the stairs to his apartment. His daughter was chattering non-stop about some audiobook Sharon had played for her. Sharon was a godsend, watching Jamie while he worked. Though her true talents meant Jamie was _safe_ while he worked. The woman was a god with a gun, but she had eclectic tastes in reading material. 

Today, though, Steve couldn’t focus on his daughter’s happy discovery of a fantastical world. Not after the day he’d had: Natasha and her secret mission, Pierce and his odd behavior. It wasn’t the first time he’d been summoned to the Security Council member’s office, but it _was_ the first time he’d been given a mission from someone other than Fury. He could hardly focus on the strangeness, when he was reeling from the info dump. 

The Winter Soldier, an assassin either as old as him, or a series of assassins under the same code name. He, or they, had been active since the fifties. There was at the same time too much information and not enough. The list of confirmed hits was longer than Steve was tall, some of them clean headshots, others messy, involving plenty of bystanders. At the same time, there was no real info about the man. No clear pictures of him, only grainy stills with bits and pieces; not even enough for a composite. 

Then there was the metal arm, the only distinguishing feature of the assassin and the only real evidence there was only one man. The metal arm looked alive, a red star displayed prominently on the bicep. Likely it was a throw back to the Cold War and communism, though Steve had slept through that whole mess and only learned about it through history books. More importantly, Steve was sure prosthetics like that were rare. 

The files Secretary Pierce had showed him told a story of the carnage and destruction that the Winter Soldier left in his wake. If he really was in DC, looking to do harm to Steve and his daughter, casualties were a foregone conclusion. Innocent people would be hurt, likely die, when Steve and the stranger fought. And they would; but no one would hurt his little girl.

Of course, part of him was afraid because assassins were not soldiers. The Winter Soldier wouldn’t challenge him face to face, it wasn’t what assassins did. They skulked in the shadows and killed from a distance. The Winter Soldier was especially dangerous because he was as skilled with a sniper rifle as he was with close, personal assassination. Predicting how he would come at Steve wasn’t possible. He couldn’t plan, couldn’t strategize, not when there were too many variables. He could be in the building across the street, or in Steve’s building. He could show up on a mission, or during a briefing. He could come after the Avengers individually, or together. Most frightening of all, he could come after their families. Natasha and Clint’s children, Jamie, Pepper; they didn’t know who the target was because the Winter Soldier would use any advantage to gain the upper hand.

With his job, Steve did have some precautions in place. Once he put Jamie to bed, he’d close the curtains, denying line of sight to any snipers. The building itself teamed with S.H.I.E.L.D agents, each apartment freely rented to one. There were enough high tech sensors that no explosives could be placed without their knowledge, and security cameras with Tony’s best software to make it nigh-unhackable. It wasn’t enough for someone determined, but it was the best Steve could do without completely going off the grid and Jamie deserved a better life than that. She didn’t deserve to suffer for what her father did for a living.

Probably sensing he wasn’t paying any attention, Jamie smacked Steve in the face with his shield. 

“Ouch!” Steve frowned, adjusted his daughter in his arms so he could hold her and get his keys out. “Jamie, what have we discussed about hitting?”

“Hitting is bad,” Jamie said dutifully, though he suspected her sincerity. “Sorry, daddy.”

Pushing the front door open, Steve froze with further recriminations on his tongue. His record player was on, spinning one of Bucky’s favorite tunes. There was no way he had left it on. He _hadn’t_ , but he’d been gone long enough the record would have ended even if he was mistaken.

Someone was here.

Someone had gotten in.

Mouth dry, Steve carefully set Jamie down on the floor and took his shield from her.

Keeping his voice even, Steve said, “Baby girl, I need you to run back down to Sharon’s, okay? Tell her I need some sugar.”

Jamie didn’t roll her eyes, but she did stomp her foot.

“ _Then_ will you listen to my story?”

“Anything you want,” Steve promised. He tried to fix this moment into his mind: Jamie’s face going from a pout to a brilliant smile - she had Bucky’s smile and it did him in every time - in a heartbeat. Then she scampered away and Steve turned back to his apartment, shield held up to block any shots as he crept in. If he hadn’t been so distracted, he never would have opened the door, but it was too late now. 

Their home was dark, music still floating from the small living room. He wished he was armed, but he didn’t keep guns around Jamie. No gun safe could keep her out if she wanted inside. Yet, instead of an armed assassin leaping at him from the shadows, he found Fury sitting in a chair, in the dark.

Announcing his presence, he said, “I don’t remember giving you a key,” but didn’t set the shield down. 

“You really think I’d need one?” Nick huffed. “My wife kicked me out.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know you were married.”

“A lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“I know, Nick.” Steve sighed and turned to get some light in the place. This was a very strange way to bring up Project Insight again. “That’s the problem.” 

When he turned around, Steve started and opened his mouth. While he had sounded perfectly fine, he was anything but; he looked like he’d been hit by several cars. Not as bad as guys in trenches, but damned close.

Before Steve could comment, Fury pressed a finger to his lips. He tapped out a message on his phone, then held it up for Steve to see. The words, “ears everywhere,” explained half of this charade, but also brought Pierce’s words to mind. Hydra had sent the Winter Soldier after him and his, why not bug his apartment as well?

“I’m sorry to have to do this, but I had no place else to crash.” Even as he said the words, Nick was typing away. The message, “SHIELD compromised,” still wasn’t what Steve expected to see. It was _S.H.I.E.L.D._ Peggy’s lifework, and it was… Hydra? 

Steve swallowed down his nausea.

“Who else knows about your wife?”

“Just… my friends.” His message said, “Just you and me.”

‘Friends’, however, is not what Steve would call them. Not after their last conversation where Nick had told him to get with the program, or get out. Steve had chosen to get out, which was why it was strange Fury had come to him with this. He wasn’t the man’s good, obedient soldier.

“Is that what we are?” 

It was as close as Steve could get to voicing his thoughts, but from the understanding on Fury’s face, it was worked.

“That’s up to you.”

Frowning, Steve glanced at the door. There had been plenty of time for Jamie to get down to the first floor, talk to Sharon, and Sharon to return. Their code phrase was pretty simple; she should have been here by now.

“Steve -” Fury began as Steve turned away.

“Jamie isn’t back,” Steve interrupted, heading for the door. 

Fury was smart enough not to call him back, but Steve wasn’t going to leave him just bleeding in his arm chair. Jogging down the hall, he fished out his cellphone and sent a quick “SOS” to Natasha. If he knew her - and he did - she’d be at his place within a half hour. Fury would last that long and they could trust her, even if most of S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised.

Message sent, he pulled up the tracker app Tony had installed on his phone. To his relief, it pinged to show Jamie was still in the building. Well, at least her shoes were. She knew better than to take them off outside the apartment - a long, arduous battle Steve was proud to have won - so unless someone had taken them off… But how could the Winter Soldier have known they were there?

Steve shook his head, focusing on the task at hand. If someone had grabbed his daughter, he would find her. First he had to follow the tracker, which was pointing to the basement, the laundry room to be specific. Getting ahead of himself would only make him careless.

The laundry room was a public space, located in the basement along with the boiler and god only knew what else. It was a good sign in one respect: Jamie loved watching the washers and dryers with their glass doors showing the clothing spinning around and around. Steve had had to keep her from trying to shut herself into a dryer on more than one occasion, so he could see her heading down there. Only, he had told her to go to Sharon. Jamie was willful and stubborn, a downright menace more often than not, but she wasn’t disobedient. 

When Steve got to the basement, he slowed down, listening and creeping forward with his shield raised. There were no unusual sounds, another good and bad omen as he couldn’t hear his daughter playing either. With only one entrance leading into the laundry room and the door shut, he knew he would be a perfect target for potential enemies inside. There was nowhere to hide, but he couldn’t do anything else. He had to verify Jamie was in there, or if it was just her tracker. 

Steve took a deep breath and eased the door open, little by little. He shouldn’t have bothered. 

On the other side was his worst nightmare, but also the shockingly unexpected. The Winter Soldier - long, dark, greasy hair; black kevlar, mask, and goggles - stood staring at his daughter, oblivious to anything else in the room. Jamie had pressed her face to a washing machine door, watching the clothing, water, and soap churn as she sang the theme song to Sesame Street. 

Heart in his throat, Steve eased further into the room, then quietly closed the door. Neither the Winter Soldier, nor his daughter, noticed him. Still, he was too far from his little girl. If he ran, if he was noticed, he’d never get there in time. Not only was the man so very large compared to how tiny his daughter was. The Winter Soldier was armed for bear. There was a custom holster on his left thigh with two handguns and another on his right. Knife sheaths, both right and left handed grips, were attached to his utility belt among other equipment Steve couldn’t discern. There was an honest to god submachine gun strapped to his back between his shoulder blades and a strap across his chest holding some kind of rifle. Steve had no idea how the guy moved through the city with so much weaponry without raising panic. 

“Put your shield down,” the Soldier’s voice was low and hoarse, as if degraded from lack of use, or smoking. He never took his eyes from Jamie and he was so close to her, all he needed to do was reach out and he could break her neck.

Steve lowered the shield and hesitated before flipping it over and putting it on the ground. One stomp and he could have it back in his hands. If he was lucky the Soldier wouldn’t realise that; most people didn’t.

Jamie kept singing, glancing over at them and putting her fingers in her mouth so her words slurred, and then just turning back to the washer. Unaware of the danger. Admittedly, Steve wanted to keep it that way as long as possible.

“What do you want?” Steve asked, trying to open a line of dialogue. Pierce had already told him what the Winter Soldier wanted: to fill his contract and kill Steve. Still, with his daughter on the line, he’d try anything once.

“She smells good,” the Soldier said, never taking his eyes from Jamie. His focus wasn't solely on the child, even if his eyes were fixed on her golden head, and that’s all that kept Steve from leaping the space between them and killing him with his bare hands. Steve didn’t remember anything in the brief about the Soldier being interested in children. Before he could answer, he had to swallow twice, as both his throat and chest had gone tight. No matter how furious he was that anyone would look at any child that way, but especially his child, he had to keep his focus on getting Jamie out of here in one piece. 

Giving it a second shot, Steve said, “If you tell me what you want, we might be able to work something out. I’d like to help you.”

“Why does she smell familiar?” The Soldier frowned. “There shouldn’t be any children.”

Opening his mouth, Steve shut it again. The Soldier’s answers didn’t make any sense, which made it difficult for him to find a footing. You couldn’t open a dialogue when you hadn’t any clue what was being said.

“You think she smells familiar?” Steve repeated slowly. “Like home, or something else?”

The Soldier flicked his eyes to Steve for the first time. It was just a moment, a practiced up and down. The Soldier was used to quick assessments, only Steve didn’t know how he had been judged. It wasn’t a good feeling.

“She smells like nothing I should know,” the frown deepened, “but I know it.”

Tentatively, Steve chanced taking a step forward. 

“Why shouldn’t you know if?”

“She is too young to be alive,” the Soldier mumbled. Steve didn’t think he blinked. “Those girls are dead now.”

A chill ran down Steve’s spine and he had to clench his jaw. Yet the Winter Soldier hadn’t commented on his movement, so he took another step. It was away from his shield, but a few more and he’d be between the Soldier and Jamie.

“Jamie,” Steve stressed, “is very alive. She’s probably hungry, too, since it’s dinner time. Aren’t you, baby?”

“I want ice cream!” Jamie declared, forehead pressed to the glass.

“You smell like her,” the Soldier declared, out of the blue, his eyes trailing from Jamie to Steve.

For better or worse, there was no use hiding that fact.

“She’s my daughter.” 

The Soldier inhaled so deeply Steve could hear it.

“You are an Omega.” There was a soft growl to Soldier’s voice. Not threatening, more like he was an Alpha. That had also been missing from Pierce’s briefing.

“Yes.” Cautiously, Steve advanced another step. He hadn’t a clue where the guy was going with all this. “That’s important to you?”

“Hydra doesn’t like Omega’s.” 

It was strange. The Soldier sounded distracted, his eyes sliding to Jamie once more. Yet, the cadence was that of he a man repeating statements he had heard, rather than his own opinions. Nothing about this Winter Solider was making sense and that was setting Steve more and more on edge. What Steve fixated on was the first word, however. Confirmation that Fury was right and that the Winter Soldier was as dangerous as he had been told.

“Jamie hasn’t presented yet,” Steve pointed out. “She’s very young. I’d like to take her upstairs and get her dinner. Will you let me do that?”

“Fury, Nicholas J., is in your flat. Target level ten.”

Even as Steve went cold all over, there was a loud crack, Jamie yelped, and Steve moved without thinking. His legs propelled him across the room, to Jamie’s side, wrapping her in his arms. Only then did he notice the water he was kneeling in, the cracked washer glass, and his daughter’s expression of, ‘Oops’.

“Sorry,” Jamie murmured and Steve choked on hysterical laughter. He’d thought, for a single heartbeat, the Winter Soldier had shot his little girl.

Then he realised the Winter Soldier hadn’t reacted to his movement, hadn't attempted to prevent Steve from getting to Jamie at all. Looking up, Steve found the assassin hadn’t moved a muscle. He was still standing there, only now he was watching them both. It wasn’t… _normal_. It wasn’t expected. Steve didn’t like it one bit. None of his knowledge or training prepared him for this.

Unless…

Unless Steve thought of the Soldier as being mentally unstable. Then, maybe…

“Do you plan to hurt my daughter?” Steve asked.

The Soldier looked down at Jamie, who looked back up at him with her big, blue eyes, and then curled into Steve’s side.

“She is not on my target list.”

Though that was a relief, Steve had to ask, “Am I on your target list?”

“Target, level seven. Kill on sight.”

That was interesting, since the Soldier hadn’t tried to kill him. Aloud he pointed out, “You haven't tried to kill me.”

“You smell familiar.”

Licking his lips, Steve wrapped his arms tighter around Jamie and then stood. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her face against his chest, Steve knew she was scared, but also felt he would keep her safe. He hoped that he would be able to, but this Winter Soldier was too strange and it didn’t help that his face was hidden so Steve couldn’t read it.

“If you’re not following orders,” Steve said carefully, “what are you planning to do?”

The metal arm twitched, forming a fist, and Steve tensed. It was the first rapid movement the Soldier had made; previously still and controlled. That was what had disturbed Steve; humans shouldn’t fall into that kind of stillness naturally. It felt artificial and disturbing, more than the cache weapons. Those Steve could understand, but the careful lack of personality was too abnormal.

“Orders are absolute.” 

The words were a mantra more than a statement. The lack of inflection indicated the Soldier was repeating it, not proclaiming his own beliefs. There was an opening there, a chance to keep Jamie safe and, maybe, deal a crushing blow to Hydra. It would be dangerous trying to do more than just get him and Jamie out of this room safely, but if the Soldier was questioning his orders, Steve could turn him.

“Why aren’t you following your orders then?” Steve knew pushing the issue wasn’t the right way to do this, but his gut told him there was a crack in that artificial facade.

“Nobody feels familiar.” The Soldier’s voice was distant, distracted. “It’s always new, when they wake me.” 

The Soldier shifted, spreading his feet as if grounding his stance. Steve shifted in kind, turning his side toward the Soldier to hide Jamie behind his own body while trying not to be obvious. So far he wasn’t sure they would fight, but the Soldier was too unpredictable. From his records, he knew how to use all six feet of muscle and gear to his advantage.

“You are an impossibility,” the Winter Soldier went on, his head was tilted minutely towards the door, as if he was listening to something Steve couldn't hear. 

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” Steve said lightly. If the Soldier wasn’t going to answer his questions, just keeping him talking might help.

“Do you know me?” 

The question took Steve off guard. There was something akin to hope in the Soldier’s question, a vulnerability that Steve hadn’t expect, or fully trust. 

“Well...” Steve stalled, thinking furiously about the right answer. Did the Soldier mean tactical information, or did he mean something personal? With how strange he acted, Steve didn’t want to give the wrong answer and break the puzzling status quo they had till now. “Be hard to recognize anyone under all that gear.” 

In response, the Soldier tilted his head like a puzzled dog.

“I can’t see your face,” Steve clarified.

Steve never expected his words to actually make the Soldier disarm or unmask. It was a way to extend the conversation, push the possibility of violence away. Every second counted with Jamie in his arms. Men like him and the Soldier, well trained and armed, were a danger to civilians in such a small space. If they fought, Jamie could get hurt even without the Soldier aiming for her. So when he saw that metal hand, that still puzzled him with it’s perfect articulation, reach for the mask and pull it off, his jaw dropped.

Yet, that wasn’t even what was the most shocking. It was the face behind the mask - the eyes under the goggles - that brought Steve’s mind to a crashing halt. He knew every curve, every dimple, ever angle of that face. And those eyes? He saw those eyes every day, looking back at him: Bucky’s eyes.

“Bucky?” Steve whispered. 

It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t even probably. Bucky had fallen from a drop no man could survive. Yet, he was here. The evidence was literally before Steve’s eyes. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Steve stared, too shocked to move, or even think clearly. It was like his brain refused to truly grasp the enormity of what was in front of him and what it meant. Bucky… wasn’t dead. 

And he didn’t know Steve.

“You,” Steve said, or thought he said. There was a buzzing in his ears that made him deaf as he stared at the painfully familiar, beloved face. He swallowed thickly. “I know you.” 

The Soldier stared at him, eyes fixed on him with an expression Steve couldn't read. 

“You know me. That’s… that’s why I smell familiar. And I know you; you’re Bucky.”

“What’s a Bucky?”

Steve blinked, tentatively taking a step towards Bucky.

“Not a what. Who. James Buchanan Barnes. You were my closest friend since childhood. I’ve known you all my life.” Steve swallowed again. “You were…,” Steve almost changed the sentence to are, “my Alpha.”

Peeling herself away from Steve’s neck, Jamie twisted to look at Bucky again. With two fingers in her mouth, she mumbled, “My papa’s name was Bucky,” though Steve was probably the only one who understood.

Jamie’s words made Steve’s heart ache. This would all be so much simpler of he had bonded with Bucky. They’d just never found the right time. Before the serum, Steve’s heart wouldn’t have been able to handle the recovery period after bonding; the exhaustion and pain from the connection settling into place. During the war, they just hadn’t had a solid two weeks without another need for Captain America. If they’d been bonded, Steve would have known Bucky was alive all these years. And Bucky… he’d know Steve now, not just this familiarity.

“That’s what you wanted to know, right?” Steve pressed, stepping closer again. “If I know you? I do, Bucky. We never made it official, but I was yours. You don’t… remember? At all?”

Bucky shook his head, but there was a frown deepening on his face.

“I feel like I should know you,” he said at last, “the way I know all my weapons. The way I know languages.”

“My papa is dead,” Jamie declared through her mouthful of fingers.

Wincing, Steve glanced at his daughter, than at Bucky. He didn’t know Steve, but Steve wasn’t about to give up. At the same time, he didn’t think it was a good idea to keep talking about this with Jamie present. With Fury - and by now Natasha - in his apartment, he wasn’t sure what else to do, though. Not when the place was bugged to hell.

“My place is compromised,” Steve said, hoping he could rely on the Alpha instinct to care for their family. “Can you take us someplace? Some place I can get her fed and keep her safe?”

The change in the Soldier was instantaneous. From a lost, confused, and unstable man, he became a coolly focused soldier. Until that point, Steve had wondered how this could be the feared Winter Soldier. He was more damaged than dangerous, but all that vulnerability was swept away under simple purpose, as if having orders banished all weakness, like shedding dirty clothes. It _hurt_. His Bucky had been twisted to serve Hydra’s sick purpose, and Steve knew he never would have gone easy. It was little wonder he seemed so unstable. They would have had to break him to make him do what the files said.

“Two in the city. I estimate them to be safe for no more than forty eight hours from the moment I miss my first check in.”

That was more than enough. Steve just needed a little time to plan, to gather himself and his people, before they fought back. He didn’t need a permanent hideaway. He needed a headquarters.

“When’s that?” Steve asked, taking a breath and moving to stand before Bucky.

“Fifty eight minutes.”

“Okay,” Steve smiled at Bucky, praying the Alpha would remember him soon, “let’s go.”

\----

After hot wiring a car, the Soldier had taken his Omega and the child to the closest safe house. His backup protocols included four safehouses, but all of them were under Hydra’s surveillance. Three others he had acquired in the city itself, two he didn’t remember when, but he knew their locations and knew there wouldn’t be any surveillance. The third had belonged to his previous handler. Even as obedient he was, that particular handler hadn’t always acted in Hydra’s best interests. After the previous handler’s death, the Soldier was the only one left with the knowledge of his assets he had acquired for his own interests. 

They turned into tiny side alley and stopped close to a Chinese restaurant tucked between two larger buildings. There were people coming and going; clearly the business was doing well. 

The Soldier turned to his Omega.

“Go and order number seventeen, twenty-two, and fifteen,” he said not taking his eyes from the surroundings. He should have had a free run on his mission, but surveillance was a fact of life in Hydra. There was every chance they were looking for him, especially since he was late with his check in.

It pleased him that the child did not cry, merely curled up in his Omega’s embrace, sucking on her fingers. He didn't like how she kept watching him with unnerving, blue eyes, or that he could no longer think of his Omega as a target. Maintenance would be required when he returned to his handlers…

If he returned.

Disobedience was unacceptable, unfathomable, yet here he was and he felt no desire to comply. Punishment would be the same if he was captured, or returned willingly. Conversely, the out come of his staying was the difference in keeping his Omega and the child safe. They _had_ to be safe. The Soldier felt that need stronger than he had felt any emotion. 

After standing in line for a few minutes, Steve returned with a white bag full of food in one hand. The other was closed tightly, but extended to the Soldier as soon as he was in reach. The key his Omega dropped into his hand was what he’d been waiting for. A number had been scratched into the cheap metal with some tool: Seventy nine.

He ditched the car with keys in the engine and the doors unlocked two blocks away, then walked back to the safe house. In this neighborhood, it would be stolen before they got inside. Hydra wouldn’t be able to use it to track them. As they walked, he pulled out a thin, dark blue windbreaker where it had been folded into a square and tucked into a pouch on his belt. It was uncomfortable pulling it over his tac vest and weapons, but civilian clothing wouldn’t catch as much attention as his heavy, military gear. There was no way to quickly hide his thigh holsters, so he didn’t bother. 

The safehouse was located in a large, crowded block of flats, chock-full of families. Half of them didn’t speak English. They climbed the stairs to the seventh floor using one of the two staircases that made the building strategically sound. They were located on opposite ends with a looped corridor that connected them. Two entrances into the building, and two sets of stairs. A large task force would be required to secure the building against him, and then the roof was high enough he could jump to the two neighboring buildings. If all else failed, the basement had an illegal sewer access.

The flat itself didn’t have much in terms of security, at least not on the outside; just the old, scratched door. When he put the key in the lock and twisted, it went heavily, the bolts moving slowly. The door was actually steel reinforced. It could be forced, but it would take equipment and time, enough for him to be warned. 

Inside, the place was a single, nearly empty, room that doubled as a living room and bedroom. A small couch sat in front of an old TV atop a peeling cabinet. Behind it, pressed into the corner, was a bare mattress piled high with covers neatly packed into foil bags. A closet, which should have first aid supplies and some generic clothing in a few sizes, was to the mattress’ right. The kitchen was barely big enough to hold a stove and a small fridge with a single freezer drawer. An ancient microwave was set atop the fridge, and above the stove was a single cabinet. Across the room was a bathroom; toilet, sink and shower with a cheap curtain. 

“Clothes in the closet, frozen meals in the freezer.”

He kept one ear on his Omega’s movements as he went into the bathroom find the place where the tiles weren’t attached not to a wall, but to a piece of board. As he pulled it off, dust rained down, and he uncovered a thin space between the fake wall and the real one filled with wrapped packages: cash and a range of ammunition.

Instead of restocking, he paused, knelt on the floor, and listened to quiet clunks and clangs of Steve in the kitchen. There were words, muffled by the walls: the low baritone of his Omega, and the unintelligible responses of the child. Then the sound of the TV and music from some kind of children’s show.

By the time he gathered himself, took stock of all the available supplies, and returned to the corridor, the smell of food wafted out of the tiny kitchen. When he looked into the living room he saw the child sitting on the couch, with an empty plate in her hands. 

None of this was the right set up for a child and he felt the inadequacy keenly, though he didn't know why. Yet neither of his charges complained. A strange swell of emotion filled his chest as he saw his Omega had made a nest for the child. It was similar to the feeling he got after completing a mission with particular skill, but he didn't know its name. Yet, it didn't abate as he took in the new location of the couch and television, settled against a wall far from any windows. He’d kept the volume low and colorful pictures dancing across the screen. The purpose was clear as the child was enraptured, hardly noticing as his Omega wrapped her in a blanket, then took her empty plate.

Now that they were safe and fed, the Soldier felt lost once more. There were no more orders to fill, just time to kill until they had to move, or the safehouse was compromised. He should do a perimeter check, refresh his memory of his exit strategies, but he just stared as his Omega scraped clean the child’s plate, then began pulling out more food from the freezer. 

“This is perfect,” his Omega said, startling the Soldier. They had been silent so long, he had gotten used to it. The words themselves, however, caused that swell of emotion to return. He had done well and his Omega approved.

Yet… he wasn’t sure what to do next. He had no orders that he could follow. He always had orders. His Omega had gotten them this far; perhaps he would know what to do next.

“What do we do next?”

The Omega paused, slowly straightened from his crouch in front of the fridge, then faced the Soldier. He held up the packaged food and said, “I thought we’d eat? I’m starving and Jamie is taken care of. Are you hungry?”

Hunger was… He had forgotten that it mattered. Food was scheduled, not something he did on a whim.

“Yes,” he answered, looking at his Omega and experiencing the unexpected urge to please him. To please Steve, and it did. At his answer, his Omega smiled brilliantly, like he’d said something extraordinary, and turned back to the frozen meals. 

Once again unsure what to do, Bucky just stood there, watching his Omega make enough food for both their enhanced appetites. It was growing harder to remember why he had prioritized his orders over this familiarity with his Omega and the child. Orders gave structure, purpose, but this was its own path. Protecting them was all that ever should have mattered.

“Jamie played all day, so she should drop off soon.”

“Drop off what?” He checked again to be sure, but the child wasn’t near the edge of the couch. Was there a ledge somewhere he hadn’t seen? 

“To sleep.” His Omega chuckled and the Soldier focused on him again. He liked the sound. “When she’s asleep, we can talk about a plan.”

That didn’t seem to need his input, so the Soldier didn’t say anything. He did take a step closer as his Omega turned his back. That familiar scent was enticing; he wanted more, but he wasn’t quite sure how to get it without making his Omega afraid again. This calm was preferable to the attitude in the basement his target had hidden in. It had never bothered him if his targets fought, or were afraid, but on Steve, his Omega, the scent was disgusting. He never wanted to smell anything like that again, certainly not cause it. 

His Omega set the microwave buzzing and turned, startling when he finally noticed how close he’d crept. Yet he didn’t back away, just watched the Soldier with surprise. It felt like a kind of permission, so he sniffed, catching more of his Omega’s scent. Only… there was something not quite right about it.

“Bucky?” his Omega asked quietly.

“You don’t smell like me,” he said, watching Steve carefully. “You said you were mine.” 

The words came out accusing, another strange behavior. He couldn’t remember being allowed to act like this, but his Omega winced guiltily. Then he glanced toward the child. Whatever he was looking for, he turned back to the Soldier and stepped closer to him. It was… better.

“We’ve been apart for a long time.” His Omega tentatively placed his hand on his chest. “I didn’t lie, but scent doesn’t last seventy years.”

The Soldier barely heard the words, too focused on the stunning warmth radiating from the hand on his chest. He couldn’t remember being touched when it wasn't for maintenance, or during a fight. It felt good. So good he couldn't focus on anything but that one point of contact. He pressed in against that palm, making the touch firmer.

“You can mark me with your scent,” his Omega whispered. “You don’t have to ask.”

He was usually discouraged from marking people with his scent, so hearing those words stated so simply sent his heart pounding. Scent marking meant ownership. It meant everybody would know Steve was his. He might have called Steve his Omega in his head, but there wasn’t anything to mark him as such. Not for real. Scent lasted, it was intimate and to hide.

“Seventy years?” he asked, the tidbit of information making it through his haze.

“Yes.” Steve licked his lips and he was leaning in, though he smelled of old pain and suffering. “Do you… remember? What happened?”

Above all else, he did not want to disappoint Steve, but he couldn’t lie. 

“I don't remember.”

The words earned him a sad smile, and at least Steve wasn’t disappointed.

“It’s okay,” Steve reassured him. “You fell. You shouldn’t have survived, but...” Steve looked him up and down and the smile grew a fraction. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

\----

There were burner phones in the supplies Bucky pointed Steve to, so Steve checked in with Natasha as they ate dinner. It wasn’t like Bucky was a sparkling conversationalist now, otherwise he would have felt guilty ignoring him. Whatever Hydra had done to his Alpha’s brain was terrifying. He could hardly see Bucky in there, but Steve wasn’t afraid he was going to snap, or fall back on his orders any more. Not with the way he was staring at Steve, or the way he looked at Jamie. He was their Alpha, Hydra programming be damned.

Unknown Number: Fury is stable. We’ve gone to ground. Will schedule a meet when we have a safe house.

Steve sighed, flipping the phone over and pulling out the battery. He would check it every few hours for new messages, but wasn’t going to risk compromising Jamie by leaving it on. 

Tucking the phone into his pocket, he gathered up their empty dinner containers, and brushed a kiss across Bucky’s cheek. When Steve was leaning in, Bucky flinched, but quickly fell still. It was that stillness, and his own need to be close, that let him continue the gesture even though he reaction was completely artificial. As he pulled away, Bucky’s head whipped around, following him as he threw away their trash and dumped the silverware in the sink to wash later. It was at once amusing and heart breaking because it was so clear no one had touched his Alpha kindly in a long, long time.

As he walked away, then toward the living room, Bucky sniffed loudly, leaning toward him. He knew Alphas were sensitive to smell, but Bucky was overly fixated on it. He had said Steve didn’t smell right, but he hadn’t tried to scent mark him either, not even with Steve’s permission. It would have been nice, but Steve wasn’t going to push him more than he just had. Little touches, without pain, might make Bucky bolder.

When he walked into the living room, Jamie didn’t even look up at him. She’d curled onto her side, fingers in her mouth, as she watched her show. Normally he hated T.V. parenting, but it came in useful now and then. If she was still sucking on her fingers, though, she wasn’t oblivious to their situation.

“Hey, baby girl,” Steve said, kneeling by the couch and gently pulling Jamie’s fingers from her mouth, “You ready for bed?”

“I don’t like it here,” Jamie whispered.

Steve smiled weakly, using his shirt to wipe off her fingers.

“It’s just for a little while, but I’m going to need you to be a big girl, okay?”

“For a little while?” Jamie asked dubiously.

“Just for a little while.” Steve summoned a better smile, pulling the blanket from where it had slid down the couch and dragging it over her again. “Some bad people are after Daddy’s friend, but we’re safe here. We’re safe with him.”

Jamie whispered, “I like his arm,” and relief released the vice on his heart. 

“It’s pretty cool, huh?” Steve leaned down and kissed his daughter on her forehead, then turned of the television. “You wanna tell me about that story now?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Bucky move into the room with them. He was a dark, looming shadow in the corner taring with disturbing intensity at him and Jamie. There was no threat, though, despite the looming. His shoulders were low and open, as much as he probably was capable of anyways. The way he stared was making something hot and painful curl up in Steve’s belly. It was as if he didn’t even understand the idea of having a family, much less believed he had it.

“Once Upon a Time in Zombieville?” Jamie grinned and grabbed the pillow with both hands. “You forgot the name, Daddy.”

“I did,” Steve confirmed. He couldn’t quite help it. Sharon had really weird taste in radio, but at least he understood what a radio drama was and appreciated Sharon for getting his daughter into podcasts instead of something he’d have struggled to relate to. “What happened this time?”

“Well,” Jamie began in her ‘story teller’s’ voice that reminded Steve of Sharon, “Jamie’s dad hasn’t come home yet, so he’s scared…” 

As Steve listened to his daughter tell herself a story, he watched Bucky and gently stroked Jamie’s golden head. Bucky’s gaze kept flicking from him, to Jamie, to the hand Steve had on her head. Shifting from foot to foot, he looked almost anxious, but Steve didn’t think that was right. 

“Daddy?” 

Steve blinked, and looked to Jamie again. He was pretty sure he hadn’t missed anything she’d said. 

“Can Bucky tuck me in?”

That took Steve aback, his mind racing. Jamie hadn’t spent that much time with Bucky, they couldn’t have formed any kind of bond. The request was strange and suggested Jamie’s comment on her Papa being named Bucky hadn’t been coincidental. 

Bucky didn’t move. No, he stilled so completely it raised the hair at the back of Steve’s neck. Steve might have been surprised, but Bucky looked as if he was held at gunpoint. It would have been funny, if it wasn’t so goddamn sad. Steve breathed in slowly and then let out the air even slower, trying not to get mad at the thought of what must have been done to Bucky to make him react like this.

“Bucky doesn’t know how to tuck you in, sweetheart.” 

Steve glanced at Bucky and then held out his hand, beckoning him over. He couldn’t read the look Bucky gave him, but he came within his reach and then stopped in what looked like a parade rest. This might be a terrible idea, but sooner or later they were going to have to tell Jamie the truth. Maybe it wouldn’t all fall apart this soon.

“I don’t care,” Jamie declared, “I want Bucky to tuck me in.”

And Steve should have expected that. His daughter was as stubborn as he was on a good day. Standing, he reached for Bucky’s hand. Bucky watched his hand for a moment, nothing showing on his face. When Steve thought Bucky would back out, he reached out to meet Steve’s and let him lace their fingers together.

“Then we’re gonna have to teach him, okay?”

“Okay.” Jame beamed, just happy to get her way. “Bucky, you gotta kiss me on the forehead, and wish me good night.” It was difficult for Steve not to chuckle at the instructions coming in Jamie’s high pitched voice. “Then you turn on my nightlight, and check the closet for monsters.”

“Not under the bed?” Steve asked, struggling to keep a straight face.

Jamie sighed.

“I’m not in a bed, Daddy. The monsters will be in the closet.”

“Right, of course.” Steve looked up at Bucky. “You think you can tuck her in?” 

Bucky nodded, the way soldier accepted a mission, and the grin became even harder to keep off his face. Bucky stepped closer, looking first at Steve, then at Jamie. He bent down stiffly compared to his usual grace, and placed the most awkward kiss Steve had ever witnessed on Jamie’s forehead. 

“Good,” Jamie intoned as Bucky straightened up immediately, as if afraid prolonged contact with her could hurt one of them. 

“Good night,” Bucky said mechanically. 

“I’ll get the night light,” Steve assured, since they would just keep the kitchen light on. Steve nudged Bucky’s boot with his toe. “The monsters, Buck. Gotta check the closet.”

Bucky shot him a look that was definitely not mechanical, but he went towards the closet anyways. He opened it wide and stood in front of it, clearly lost as to what to do next.

“Any monsters?” Steve queried, his voice shaking with laughter. 

All Bucky did was shake his head, but it was enough.

“No monsters, kiddo.”

“Good night, Bucky,” Jamie said sleepily, “Good night, Daddy.”

“Night, Jamie,” Steve quickly crossed to Bucky and grabbed his hand, not waiting for him to respond this time. He started pulling him from the room, toward the other where the mattress was still against the wall. Bucky shot him another of those definitely not mechanical looks, but stayed silent, clearly understanding Steve’s unspoken command. “We’ll be right over here if you wake up, okay?”

Pulling her blanket to her chest, Jamie nodded and Steve turned out the light. The kitchen light was still on, so Jamie would be able to get to sleep. She wasn’t over her fear of the dark just yet. 

Steve was so engrossed in ensuring Jamie slept, he didn’t realize he’d pulled Bucky over to the small mattress until they were there. Rather, he didn’t realize what it meant. There was only one bed, the two of them, and Bucky still had no idea what to do with his touch. It was clear from the way he was staring at their hands, like it was a wonder and a bafflement all at once.

Bucky’s nostrils flew as he scented the air again and again. He opened his mouth to ask about it when Bucky switched from remarkably passive, to lightning fast movement. Steve barely bit back a yelp, nearly waking Jamie as Bucky grabbed him by the shoulder, then pulled him down. 

Even as he landed on his back on the thin mattress, he felt Bucky’s flesh palm slide behind his head, cushioning him from the fall. It took effort not to react, not to counter and just let himself be manhandled, but that gentleness helped. He ended up on his back, staring up at Bucky whose long hair was falling around his face, messy, but soft. Only the hand behind his head was touching him and it left Bucky crouched in what looked to be a truly uncomfortable position. Perhaps Bucky didn’t want to scare him, or was still unsure touch was permitted. 

“I want to mark you with my scent,” Bucky’s voice desperate. “I… please.” 

Steve had no idea how to feel. The mix of rage, pity, and happiness was giving him whiplash, making it hard to think clearly. But Bucky was clearly lost, uncertain how to express what he wanted. It was up to Steve to guide him.

“You never have to ask,” Steve whispered. Maybe he was being selfish, but he needed this to be his, just for a second. “Do it, touch me.” 

Slowly, not wanting to startle Bucky, he reached for Bucky as well. As much as Bucky had proved he wasn’t a danger, Steve worried about startling him. He knew enough about shell shock to know he had a pretty serious case in front of him. 

“Let me touch you too.”

When Steve laid his hands on Bucky’s chest, he couldn’t feel anything but his armor. Bucky had shed his jacket and most of his weapons before dinner, but he was still in his vest and there were too many layers separating them. His fingers found the edge of the nearest strap and he pulled at it gently, showing Bucky what he was planning.

“Can I take this off?”

Bucky looked at him, steel blue eyes searching Steve’s face for a long minute, before he leaned back on his ankles. It wasn’t the same as Steve taking it off himself, but he watched as Bucky started stripping off the vest efficiently. Among the sharp rip-rip-rip sounds of velcro, Bucky rid of the last of his armor and threw it aside. 

Steve reached for Bucky’s black undershirt and tugged. “This, too.” Since Bucky was obliging Steve figured he could push a little. He didn’t expect the immediate compliance, but maybe he should. It seemed that once Bucky committed to a course of action, he wasn’t going to hesitate. It was a nice sight when Bucky gripped the edge of his undershirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth move. The flat, ridged muscles of his stomach was a nice surprise that softened the blow of seeing the way the metal arm connected to Bucky’s body for the first time. They’d taken his whole shoulder and soldered it to the joint, like Bucky was a car and not a person.

“You, too.”

The command startled Steve, but he was grateful for the distraction, pulling his own shirt off and over his head. They couldn’t take this further, but skin would be a comfort. He shouldn’t have worried. The second his shirt left his fingers, Bucky was leaning down, pinning Steve’s shoulders to the mattress and nuzzling into his throat. Gasping, Steve let him, tilting his head back in complete surrender. Bucky just… stayed there, sniffing, and crouched over him.

Carefully, Steve pressed his hands to Bucky’s bare chest and felt his Alpha shudder. It took little coaxing to pull him down, just a few tugs on Bucky’s shoulders, and he was laying atop Steve, pressing him into the mattress. He wasn’t touching Steve, though, wasn’t marking him with his scent glands. Steve wasn’t sure if it was he needed more permission, when Steve had given it explicitly, or if he just didn’t know how. 

Not certain he was doing the right thing pushing Bucky yet further, Steve took the flesh hand fisted by his head and pulled it to his throat. All of Bucky froze, even his nose, as Steve uncurled his fingers and pressed his palm to his own throat.

“I don’t want to damage you,” Bucky rasped.

“You won’t.” Steve had no idea if it was true, but it was Bucky. “It’s okay.”

With a shudder, Bucky moved at last. His fingers wrapped around Steve’s throat tender, and then he dragged his palm down Steve’s chest. Not even caresing, just wanting to touch as much of Steve as he could. He was steadily lowering his weight onto Steve, letting their bodies touch more intimately. Their legs tangled, their bellies brushing, then pressed together so Steve could feel Bucky’s every breath. 

Without warning, Bucky growled lowly, and then shoved his metal arm under Steve. It was so damned cold he shuddered, but then realized Bucky was pulling him tight, holding him close, and curled about him so his entire world was Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. Swallowing hard, Steve grabbed for the blanket folded by their mattress and tossed it up and over Bucky’s shoulders. His Alpha didn’t even budge, his lips pressed to Steve’s scent glands beneath his ear.

Their scent was mingled under the blanket, becoming something more than just the sum of its parts. Steve felt safe and satisfied in a way he hadn’t since… since the last time he had huddled for warmth with Bucky during the war.

“Yours,” Steve promised, though Bucky hadn’t made the claim aloud. 

“Mine,” Bucky confirmed, wiggling, pushing and pulling at Steve until he had them on their sides and was spooning Steve with a tenacity of an angry octopus. His legs were firmly tangled with Steve’s, his arms wrapped around Steve’s chest, and he was nosing at his hair. 

“You are mine now.” 

Bucky’s breath wafted over Steve’s neck and shoulders, making him shiver. When he felt the first touch of teeth at the nape of his neck, he had to bite his lips not to make a sound. He pushed back against Bucky, wordlessly encouraging, and nearly choked on a whimper when he felt the teeth close over his skin, pressing tight, but not painfully. It sent shivers down Steve’s back, made his belly warm, and his body loose. It felt so good, so close to the mating bite he had longed for for years, but not quite.

“Always, Buck,” Steve whispered. “Always.”

A soft growl vibrated through Bucky’s teeth and Steve shivered.

“We can’t,” Steve gently pulled his throat free, then pushed back against Bucky’s chest to show he didn’t want him to stop, “We don’t have two weeks to recover.”

Bucky snuffled against his skin, the gesture gentle and endearing. 

“Two weeks?”

“The honeymoon phase?” Steve wiggled enough to look at Bucky’s face. “The two weeks where our hormones would make it impossible to think of anything but sex?” 

“I…” Bucky was frowning again, and Steve was terrified of how much Hydra had taken away from Bucky, “I think I remember.” Steve wondered if some of Bucky’s memories, his ‘knowledge’ wasn’t truly gone. He didn’t seem to remember it by himself, but when reminded it came back to him. Hands sneaked around his hips, flesh and metal gripping him tightly, pulling him to that heavy, muscled body that was as strange as it was familiar. “Dangerous.”

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed. There was nothing he would have wanted more than bending his neck for Bucky and feeling him break skin, finally bonding them together, but they couldn’t risk it. Not yet. Just like they couldn’t do it during the war, when there was never enough time. He put his hand over Bucky’s and tangled their fingers together. 

“Soon,” he promised, to Bucky _and_ to himself. They wouldn’t wait more than absolutely necessary. Enough to have a few weeks of safety and Steve would be the one to strip them naked and make Bucky bite as hard as he could. “When it’s safe again.”

“Safe?” Bucky scowled, settling back and watching Steve closely. “Hydra will come to recover their weapon.”

“You’re not a weapon,” Steve hissed, pressing his palm to Bucky’s cheek, “You’re my Alpha, my best friend, and I swear to you, we’re going to burn them all out. All of them, until there’s nothing left. But I won’t wait this long.” He wiggled to face Bucky fully, pressing them chest to chest and framed his face with his hands. “We hit them hard enough to make them scatter for a while. Then we bond. After, we will go hunt them down to the ground, together.”

Bucky’s eyes were filled with a painful kind of hope, so clear it made Steve’s breathing difficult.

“And we’ll be safe.”

“Yeah.” Steve slid his hand back, into Bucky’s hair, letting it slide through his fingers over and over. “Safe. We’ll be a family.”

“Mine?”

Steve bit back a laugh; Bucky was such an Alpha.

“Yeah, Buck. Your family, and we’ll bond because it’s well past time.”

Instead of speaking, Bucky slumped, draping his entire weight back onto Steve. He pushed his face back into Steve’s throat, sniffing and gently dragging his teeth over the skin. Steve let him, sinking into it, closing his eyes. It was a moment of peace, the calm before the storm that Steve knew was coming. When they woke, he would likely meet with Natasha and Fury and the real work would begin.

The End.


End file.
